Blood Brothers
by Jadeah
Summary: Warning: There are spoilers to MW3, don't read if you haven't played or heard what happens.  Soap should be dead. Price saw it. But is it possible that he never actually left them? Written to How To Save a Life by The Fray.
1. Blood Brothers

"Yuri, my friend. You never should have come here."

Soap blinked and looked straight to the Russian beside him, how did Makarov know Yuri? What was going on? "What the hell's he talking about?"

Then he heard a beeping sound.

"Get out! NOW!" He then shoved Yuri out the window, jumping out behind him as the building exploded. They fell, smacking into every last thing on their decent. When Soap hit the ground, he hit hard. All he could be thankful for was that he was too far gone to feel the pain of his ribs all breaking before more debris fell on top of him.

It wasn't long before he started to come back, Yuri was holding onto him, trying to keep him moving. "Yuri... Makarov... he said..." He couldn't finish his sentence before more bullets flew by, armored vehicles were there.

"Don't stop!" Price shouted. "Keep moving!"

It was a shot of pain that raced through him as he stumbled, Yuri loosing his grip in the process.

"Pick him up!" Price barked. "We can't stay here! C'mon, this way. We have to get off the streets!" The urgency in his voice made Yuri work faster to get his grip back on Soap.

"Ah, shite..." Pain coming back, he knew that he probably reopened his wounds. The pain hindered his senses. He could distantly heard Price order on. He needed this wound closed, and soon...

"Set him down." Price sighed.

"Just patch me up..." Soap told him, voice low. "Get me back in this..."

"It's not safe here. We have to move!" Price answered, now picking Soap up, he could feel the blood streaming from his wound. He could barely hear Price's words. "We need... Nikolai... get us out..."

"C'mon, Soap! You can make it!" Price encuraged. Or tried to anyways. As Yuri was clearing a store they were passing through, a Russian came at them. Soap was quick to shoot him with a pistol. "Nice shot, son." Price told him, still supporting him.

"I can still teach you a thing or two, old man." Soap replied weakly.

Now outside again, Price quickened his pace. "We're moving up to the statue! Keep 'em off of us!"

While Yuri was fending off Russian troops, Soap could see more of them coming. He needed to warn him. "On the roof! Right side!"

"We can't stay here! C'mon, this way!" Price shouted to Yuri, pulling Soap up again. They then were going through an office building while fighting everyone off. When they got out, Soap pulled his head up just enough to see more coming.

"There's more... on the street!" As SUVs were driving in, they moved through the building to cut past them before Yuri dystoried the cars. Trembling, Soap sighed. "They'll just keep coming."

"Don't stop! Keep moving!" Price told him, fear in his eyes. Never had he seen the older so worried.

"Just leave me, Price!" Soap snapped. He was holding them back! If he just left him then he could go after Makarov.

"No! I'm getting you out of this!" He then looked around and pointed to the building, "Head for that building to the northwest!"

Then more were there. Soap hissed a breath, breifly getting a glimse at the blood trail he was leaving behind. No way would he make it. They should have patched him up when they could have. When he looked up he could see more. "Price! UAZ!"

"We made it, Soap!" Price assured. "Just hold on!"

The thing was... he just couldn't. He was willing to admit it now. No way could he survive this time... He fell, shutting his eyes as he waited for death to come. But it didn't. He still felt his pain. He was feeling nauseous from bloodloss. And he didn't know which way was up or down. When hands grabbed him, he barely looked up before closing his eyes.

"Clear the table!"

It was too late... If Soap were going to tell Price, he'd have to now. They laid him on the table, Yuri putting pressure on his wound, and he rasped, "Price... Yuri..."

"Not now, Soap. Just rest." He told him, then turned and shouted, "Get a medic!" In the second after, he felt a hand grab his, "C'mon, stay with me son!"

"Price..." He murmered weakly, the last of his fight for life leaving him. "You need to know..." He grabbed Price by the shirt, pulling him closer. "Makarov... knows... Yuri..." And like that, he found himself bathed in white. His pain gone. It was over...

- "Oh no..." Price stared as Soap went limp. Tears stinging his eyes. "No, no, no, no! Soap! No, no! No! Soap!" He found himself shaking his dead friend around desperately, as if he'd come back if he just kept telling himself that he wasn't gone. He then felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Price! You have to go, now!" The Resistance leader told him. He shoved him away, cheeks wets and vision foggy with hot tears.

"Get off me!" He shouted at him, then looked back down at Soap mourningly. He couldn't believe it... He was... gone... His hand found the handle of his M1911 and pulled it out. It was the same gun he gave Soap to kill Imran Zakhaev five years ago. Shaking, he laid it on Soap's chest, closing his eyes a moment as he choked on a sob. "I'm sorry..." Then he reached down to a pocket in Soap's shirt, retreiving the black, leather bound field journal the man had kept. He then stashed it away in his pocket. Something to remember him by...

"Price! This way!" The leader again shouted. He barely heard him, numbed by greif. He then glared at an unknowing Yuri, he had one thing he'd do first. He went to a door, and turned to Yuri.

"Yuri! Open it!" He shouted. When he did, he spun Yuri to face him, and punched him square in the face. He fell backwards down the stairs, that stunned look on his face all the way down. Price took some sort of sick enjoyment out of it... When he reached the bottom, he pulled out his desert eagle.

"Soap trusted you." He sneered. "I thought I could too." He then locked his pistol, taking aim at Yuri as he glared. Eyes icy, and face wet with tears that seemed to stop coming now. The younger looked up, terrified. "So why, in bloody hell, does Makarov know you?"

Yuri sighed, then looked back up at him. "I was young and patriotic when I first met Vladimir Makarov..." So he was there... when Price had shot and took off Zakhaev. "Zakhaev never forgot what we did for him that day. Our reward was power. But power corrupts." And he was there at Al-Asad's safehouse. He had pressed the button to detonate the nuke. "Thousands of souls extinguished by the push of a button... This wasn't war. It was madness." And he was at the airport. Makarov shot him because he betrayed him, ratted him out. But he even survived that. "I was a soldier of Russia, not a taker of innocent lives. But in his eyes, this marked me as an enemy."

Price still held the pistol at him, glaring still just as fiercely. But instead of shooting, he helps him up. "Okay, Yuri. You've bought yourself some time... for now..."

- Telling Nikolai was hard. It was just like the scene had unfolded before Price again, wrapping him in cold greif. Before he even said anything, Nikolai had come to greet him when he had noticed something wrong.

"Are you okay my friend?" Nikolai asked. Then looked behind him and around. "Where's Soap?"

Price clenched his fists a moment before saying lowly, "He's... Makarov killed him... Soap's dead..." Somehow admitting it was harder to him than anything. It hurt worse than any wound any weapon could inflict.

Nikolai at first was speechless. Then he growled lowly, "It's all my fault..."

"It's not, Nikolai." Price told him. "It's all mine... I should have patched him up when I had the chance. Maybe he would have lived."

A long silence.

"How?" Nikolai asked hollowly. "How did he die?"

"He pushed Yuri out just as a building exploded, and the fall reopened the stitches." Price answered. "I pulled him out, Yuri helped me drag him for a while, and then we had a moment. Soap asked to be patched up then and there so he could get back to the fight, but I told them not to because I felt like we would be overrun if we stopped... I carried Soap mostly, and when we came to safety, he had already lost so much blood... And Soap died just as he told me something..."

"What?"

"Makarov knows Yuri." He said, remembering the life leave Soap's eyes on his dying breath before he was gone.

"I'm sorry to hear this..."

"Makarov must pay..."

"Yes. He should."

"I'm going after him." Price told him, a new found reason to keep going on.

"But what if you die? I'd rather not loose everyone to the bastard."

"I don't care if I die." Price responded. "All I care about at this point is for justice. Soap must be avenged."

"You mean you want revenge..." Nikolai corrected. "And I agree with you. He shouldn't get away with what he's done."

"Then you won't stop me." Price concluded before turning away, leaving a now depressed Nikolai as he went to his quarters. There he sat on his bed, in deep sorrow and mourning, before he pulled out Soap's journal... He held the black book in his hands, just as new found tears arrived to renew his grief. He then opened the book, pulling the red clip band off in the process. And read the fourth page, where Soap wrote his first entry.

"It's me, the 'Fucking New Guy'. Since selection, that's all anyone calls me: FNG this, FNG that. Figured it was time the FNG got himself a fresh FNJ - a Fucking New Journal."

After that, Price shut it again, maybe another time. He didn't want to ruin the pages thanks to his tears. He simply put the book down and took the knife in his pocket before stabbing the wall and hanging Soap's dog tags off of them. Staring at the old photos on the wall.

"I'm sorry, Soap..." Price whispered. "I don't know how to save a life..."


	2. He killed Soap

After a couple of hours of sitting dead still on the bed, Price finally stood up on stiff legs. He felt completely hollow, like he was just a shell of flimsy paper, easily crumpled. He couldn't face the others, not yet. He needed to talk to someone first. One of the only people he felt who would understand, and not question his choice.

With a flick of a switch, he turned on the laptop and put the headphones on so no one would hear MacMillian's voice.

"You signed in?" The gruff Scottish accent he could never forget answered.

"Yes..." He replied, the simpliar accent to Soap's was what made his heart retch. Twisted up in knots. But then again, he had an idea. "How's the situation on Makarov?"

"Still alive. I'll take it that the mission went south?" MacMillian assumed.

He took a breath. "There's a clocktower in Hereford where the names of the dead are inscribed." He'd decided he would bring this up. "We try to honor their deeds even as their faces fade from our memory. Those memories are all that's left, when the bastards have taken everything else."

"What happened?" Mac asked.

"He killed Soap." By now, tears were coming back. He had only contacted now because he thought he had brought himself together, but he was still fragile as glass in reality. "He's gone, Mac."

"What do you need from me, son?"

"A location." Price answered. "Our Russian says Makarov used to cache weapons at an old castle near Prague. He's got nothing more solid than that."

"Can you trust him?"

"What choice do I have?" _Not one._ "He's got his own reasons for wanting Makarov dead. Place ring any bells?"

"Aye." MacMillian responded. "We ran drones over a suspect castle back in Zakhaev's day, but we never got wind of our targets visiting the area."

"What am I up against?" Price questioned hollowly.

"The place is a fortress. Only one way in or out –" Mac told him. "-unless you've learnt to fly." Then images were coming up on the screen. "Security office on the far side of the compound, and a command center north of that. Both were heavily guarded. If Makarov's there, he'll be in that control room." As he said this, Price started typing down a list before sending it.

"What's this you're sending me?" Mac asked.

"Equipment list." Price answered simply.

"That's a lot of hardware, John." He said. "What'd you plan on doin'?"

"What you taught me to do..." He responded. "Kill 'em all."

A long moment of silence.

Then MacMillian sighed on the other end. "I know you're upset, John. But don't let your greif get the better of ya."

"I won't..."

"Then I'd better hear from ya again."

"You will." Price said, as solidly as he could. "I'll make sure of it." Then he got off the computer. About to leave the room before looking at the photos on the wall. "I'll make sure of it..."

When he got out of the room, he walked down the hall to find that bastard Yuri talking to another Russian. Price ignored him, brushing past before he can to the main room, where Nikolai was staring down with his chin resting in his palm. When he entered the room, the Russian pilot looked up.

"I was starting to worry that you might have killed yourself, my friend." Nikolai sighed.

Price didn't respond. He just changed the subject. "Thing about Soap? Or Kamarov?"

Nikolai shrugged, dark circles made his exhaustion visible. "I do not know... both I guess. I cannot believe they are gone."

"They still live on in our memories." Then he looked over his shoulder, as if expecting to see Soap walk into the room. He had to shake that from his mind right away._ He's dead. I just need to accept it._

Gray eyes staring, Nikolai asked, "Do you also have that feeling?"

"What feeling?" Price questioned back.

"That, somehow, Soap is still here." The Russian answered. "Like he is standing right in this very room with us."

Price shook his head. Although he agreed, he didn't want to admit that he was still holding onto the loss. "No. All I feel is the sense of loosing an arm or something." It wasn't a total lie.

"Although I cannot say I do not agree, I can say that I feel as though he is still beside us."

Price sighed. "Maybe, but that still doesn't change anything." He then pulled as best a smile he could, "I've got an idea on where Makarov is, we can kill the bastard."

"I hate to correct you, but I only fly planes." Nikolai pointed out. "If you need help, then bring Yuri with you."

"But he-!"

"I know you do not trust him." Nikolai told him sharply. "But if this mission is dangerous, I do not need you dead as well. I only do this because I would rather not loose another friend."

"Fine... I'll bring the bug along. But if he falls behind or slips up, don't expect him to come back." Price swore.

"I did not think so."

* * *

><p>It was probably very early morning, or extremely late at night, when Price gave up his feeble attempts to get some sleep. Soap still stuck in his mind. The sight of his death made him shiver. Then he saw something, a glimmer of crimson light in the corner of his eye, he wiped his head towards it to see just the wall, covered in taped up photos of him and the now dead friend.<p>

"Just my bloody imagination..." Price grumbled, laying his head back. But it was only a few minutes later, when he had let his guard down, that he saw it again. That faint glimmer of light just in the far corner of his eye, and when he looked towards it, it was gone.

"Ah shite..."

Now Price was sitting up in his bed, looking in the dark gloom of his room for the source of the voice. Even he reconized it as Soap's! He knew it! But he was dead right? How could he be hearing his voice? "Soap?"

"Just leave me, Price..." The familiar voice spoke out of the gloom.

He blinked hazily, now that he remembered him saying. Even still, he didn't respond. He just got up, walking straight towards the door before he opened it. Outside, he saw a shadowy red figure take shape. He barely had time to reconize it before he found Soap charging in his direction, screaming! With nowhere else to turn, he rushed back into his room and shut the door. But it didn't help him. It only kept him awake all night.

In the morning, he was going to get ready when Nikolai stopped him. "I think you need rest."

"I'm fine." He uttered. In reality, he wasn't. The shadow figure of Soap running at him and screaming bloody murder still stuck in his mind. "Besides, I need to get this mission done."

"Then do it tomorrow, after you have gotten some rest." Nikolai reasoned.

"Alright. Fine. If you're so worried..." In other words, 'I'm too exhausted to argue, so I'll stay...'

With that, Price stayed with the others that day.


	3. Familiar Faces

Nikolai was up late that night. Staring at some photos, just thinking. The thought of Soap's death was horrible. Since he met him, he always saw something, a sort of resilience, some will to keep going. Even when the odds were stacked up against him. It was hard to find men like that these days. He knew well of that.

Then he heard a thud. Like the weight of something heavy being dropped on wood. In that moment, the Russian looked up and glared to the door's direction in the dark. By the sound of it, the noise came from the main room. Before he left, he dropped the photos into the drawer of his nightstand.

When he opened the door, he found himself assualted by the stench of blood. The distinctive stench filled his nostrils, making him feel nauseous as he kept walking towards the main room. When he got there, he found himself staring at Price, who was standing stone stiff in the center of the room.

"Price?" Nikolai stepped forward, putting a hand on his shoulder, as if to assure himself of the man's presense. But the man didn't respond. "Price?" Then he looked to where he was staring.

On the table was a shadowy figure laying limply in a pool of crimson. But as soon as Nikolai blinked his eyes, the image was gone, as if it never were there to begin with.

"Price?" He then looked back to him, seeing the glassy look in his eyes. "Can you hear me?"

He nodded, slowly, then he met his eyes. Confusion, grief, depression, and not any reconistion in the slightest filled the depths of the gray-blue irises.

"Makarov..."

The faint whisper behind them made the hairs on Nikolai's neck stand on end as a chill rushed through him, they spun around to see a figure coming towards them, sort of limping.

"knows..."

With a quick glance to Price, it confirmed his suspitions that he was frozen to his spot as he was. He wasn't the only one who saw the phantom.

"Yuri..."

That's when the figure cumpled in on itself, like a person falling forward, and vanished. Neither Price or Nikolai moved a muscle as the reak of blood was gone like a heavy wind blew it out. They couldn't believe what had just happened. The figure was too painfully familiar. He knew the figure was Soap.

"You saw that too?"

Nikolai looked to Price, who stared unfocused at where the phantom vanished. He nodded. "Dah, how could I not?"

"And I thought I was crazy..." Price grumbled. "We'd best try and get some rest while we can."

"I suppose." Nikolai sighed. "That is, if I can get any..."

* * *

><p>"Open your eyes... you're fine..."<p>

"No. Let him rest. He might be in shock from it all."

"If he doesn't learn now, then it might be more of a shock to him later."

"... Sometimes I wonder about you, Ghost..."

"And you too, yah bugger."

Soap groaned, a headache pounding his skull, why was it he felt like he'd been asleep for at least a decade? Not that he'd ever know what that felt like, I assure you. His limbs stiff, and side throbbing. What happened to him anyways?

_Wait! Back up here!_ He thought after a moment. _That guy called the other Ghost! And the latter called the former bugger!_ He only knew two people like that. They were dead! He knew that! They were dead for more than 2 months! There was no way of denying that. So why, in bloody hell, did he hear those familiar voices and their names?

He pulled himself to a sit, a hand on his forehead to ease the pulsing headache, and blinked until he could filler out the obsenely bright light. And, once his eyes ajusted, he found himself staring at the easily reconizable mask of his second in command and the goggles clad sergeant. He was still on that table. He sat there in his own blood, and, oddly enough, his own body. As if he weren't even in it anymore.

"Told you he'd be fine, Roach." Ghost said smuggly.

Roach sent him an accusing glare for a moment, silly to see the two bicker on the occassion. It was one thing he kind of missed when they died. "Well, Captain? How're you feeling?"

"Yeah, consitering the last person we found who bled out couldn't stand on his feet for a week." Ghost noted. "If you can't stand up or anything, then it's fine."

Shaking his head, Soap sighed. "No. I'll be fine... The faster I get moving the better..." But the moment he decided he would push off the table he stumbled forward, Ghost managed to catch him before he hit the floor.

"Just sit down. Wait until we can fix you up." Roach told him calmly, helping Ghost sit him in a chair, away from his body. Soap caught just enough of a look to see he had died with his eyes closed, or maybe Price closed them, and looked as though he were asleep. But he knew the deathly pale skin was unnatural for him, he could tell he was dead...

As Ghost kneeled to inspect the wound that reopened and killed him, Soap spotted a pair of large white wings that had sprouted from his back, glistening in the sunlight streaming through the window. Roach it seemed, had a similar pair. But when he craned his neck to see if he as well had them, he didn't see the white feathery plumage of the birdlike appendages.

"So you're angels." Soap concluded aloud.

Ghost looked up a second and shrugged. "You could put it that way."

"More like winged collectors of the dead..." Roach grumbled. "We have to go around and bring people up and everything."

"It's not as bad as it could have been. We could be some of those unlucky bastards." The skull adorn man pointed out. "They either end up in hell or limbo."

Roach peaked behind Soap, seeing the absense of wings. "And I guess you're still up for decision. They haven't figured out if you're with us or them."

"Them?" Soap casted a confused look. He didn't know all this crap they were talking about.

"Them..." Ghost replied, not meeting his eyes. "Those demon spawn. Or any of the lost. We're lucky we found you first. It gives you a chance, at least."

"If we didn't," Roach continued, casting a glance out the window. "Then you might be another lost, or worse, another one of those disfigured hell spawn they call remotely human."

Soap took the moment to let this sink in. What had he just gotten himself, unintentionally, into?


	4. One Can Only Be So Lucky

"Come on Yuri, you're going with me..." Price said lowly as he grabbed the buzz cut Russian by the shoulder and pulled him behind him.

"I told you, Price, I'm sorry about Soap!" Yuri snapped, pulling away and lifting his arms up to protect him from another blow to the face.

"I'm not gonna hit you, unless you keep that up." Price told him in an irritated tone. "I'm taking you with me on a mission." Yuri visibly loosened. "But if you slip up, or even think of giving me any reason to, I'll kill you like I should have in the basement."

With that, he started towards his room to get his equipment together.

* * *

><p>There was something spooky about walking through Prague that made Soap involentarily shiver. Just the fact that they were close to his blood trail was enough to make him feel nauseous. But he was also unsteady on his feet and kept tripping. Ghost would help him up, then tell him that they needed to hurry. Apparently a newly killed is always gone after by everyone.<p>

Another strange thing about being a dead man, you don't feel your pulse. Your don't need to really breathe either. But he could tell by the fact he could hear Ghost and Roach doing it, the now unnessisary habit was still stuck with them as well as him. Would everyone be like this?

"What about Kamarov? Did you find him?" Soap asked.

"Who?" Roach asked back, then sighed. "Oh... the Russian loyalist..."

"We didn't make it in time." Ghost answered Soap's question. "The lost got to him first, he did say one thing when we caught up."

"What would that be?" He questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"To look for you." The once second in command said simply.

"If he didn't, we would've lost you to the demons. They were all over the place..." Roach added. "Something about dogs, I think I heard one say."

Soap felt like shouting out to the empty streets that killing a few dogs COMPLETELY OUT OF SELFDEFENCE didn't make him a bad person. But, of course, he'd just be wasting his time.

"On the bright side, we haven't seen eye or and ear of that bloody bastard Shepard anywhere." Ghost mentioned. "Are you sure you killed him?"

"I know I did." Soap replied. "I threw a knife in his damn eye and he died. No debate, he's dead."

"So he's either a lost, another hell spawn, or a rougue." Ghost sighed.

"Funny you'd mention that."

Everyone swung around to see the speaker step from the shadows. There in front of them stood Shepard! Sort of disfigured and such. He looked worse than when Soap threw the knife in his eye, and that's saying something. Of course, that was just a bloody, empty socket, and the dried blood stuck to his face.

Roach pulled out a dagger. "What the bloody hell do you want, asshole?"

Shepard seemed to chuckle. "It's not what I want at all. It's what I'm sure your excaptain MacTavish wants."

Both men glanced at Soap a moment before glaring back. Ghost had pulled out a pistol. "Now why should we trust you?"

That smirk remained on the older's face. "Because, I know how there is still some chance that he-" he pointed to Soap. "-could possibly return to the land of the living."

* * *

><p>Nikolai drummed his fingers on the table, fidgety. He hadn't slept well and couldn't seem to pull himself together since he saw the shadowy red ghost that practically whispered his last words in what sounded like a dying breath. Now here he was seeing ghosts... he's gone crazy! Great! Terrific! The pilot, who's suppose to be the one with some sense of sanity here, has up and gone mental, and is now seeing his dead friend waltzing about at random!<p>

In frustration, he threw his cap in a random direction and buried his face in his hands. "_What the fuck is wrong with me?_" He murmered in Russian.

But Price saw the exact same thing! Maybe he wasn't crazy! Not yet at least. For now, all he could do is hope he can just ignore the hauntings for now.

He decided on trying to relax a little and take a shower.

Whatever it was, probably the hot water on his skin, showers help quite a bit. Nikolai just didn't get the chance to take them enough. So aside from the need to loosen some of his tention, he also felt grimey. It's just what he needed. He stepped into the bathroom and involentarily did a double check to make sure he was alone. It was just him and the empty room.

Kicking off his boots and undoing the buttons of his shirt, he stripped down before stepping into the shower. Sighing as he turned on the water and let it pour down on him like steaming rain.

Right... so to avoid anymore disturbing visuals about him singing in the shower (no offence Nikolai! *dodges bullets*) let's skip ahead to when he's somewhat decent. He sat down as he pulled on his socks, then grabbing the stained gray shirt to pull on.

"We need... Nikolai... get us out..."

He swung around and looked in every other direction for the source of the voice. He started to become aware of the stench of blood seeping into the room and the lights starting to flicker. The lights then finally went out all together before turning back on, setting off a crimson wash of light all across the room to make the metalic reak which sufficated him. Everywhere. There was blood everywhere! He felt weak kneed as he forced himself not to tremble.

Images flashed in front of his eyes, all the blood spilled trying to bring Soap to safety, of the scene of the man's dying breath. In the end, he found himself staring at an almost unreal sight. Of Price, practically torn to shreds and staring deadly off at nothing. "Nothing... there is nothing you can do..."

All around him, it felt like the world had just shattered like an object through glass. The shards left at his feet as he finally sunk to his knees and gripped his head. It felt like he might explode, but at least his suffering would end. No, you could only be so lucky. Angony pierced through him, and a scream strangled from his throat before he could force it back. Finally he retreated to the darkest depths of his mind, away from this nightmare of a place. Before it could do anymore to him.


	5. Dead is Dead

"Bloody yank..." Ghost spat. "I hate to burst your bubble, but, in case you haven't noticed, there is no possible way to bring someone back! Dead is dead!"

Now Shepard laughed horsely. So not only did he loose his eye, but also his mind... "That's where you're wrong! There is a way!" He then stepped towards Soap and spun him around and gestured to his back. "See? Nothing here yet! He's not one of you." He then grabbed him and pushed his head down and pointed to that, Soap let out a choked shout. "There's no horns, so not a demon either." And finally he just shook him around, making a dizzy and irritated Soap swear like a sailor. "And he still resembles himself! He's not a lost." Finally he let the unfortunate man go, and Soap feel forward, too woozy from Shepard's shaking to stand up. "In short, he could be revived."

Roach and Ghost glared at him. The former dared to step towards him to help Soap up. "It just means he isn't anything yet. But you can't come back to the land of the living."

"Yes, it does." Shepard said begrudgingly, or otherwise known as his normal voice. "You and Sanderson couldn't come back because you were chosen at death to be another couple of doves... I had been on the run from all of you, that's why I'm nothing. I'll vanish soon enough. And I'm already starting to go."

"And why should we trust you?" Ghost challanged. "I might not 'of written the book on who a guy should trust, but I know that when someone KILLS YOU, you aren't suppose to trust the bastard."

Shepard crossed his arms, "So you don't believe me?"

"Not saying I don't. Just that I don't TRUST you." Ghost answered in a sneer that was covered by his mask. "There's a difference."

"Well I'm not lying." Shepard assured, even though it didn't convince any of the three in the slightest. "I can prove it, that I'm not a demon trying to get another fresh kill." He pulled his sleeve up to show his arm, which looked almost like crumbling stone. His hand was deterriorating slowly. The rest of his skin looked sort of like crinkled paper, very bumpy and unsmooth.

"Okay. So you are a rougue." Roach concluded. "Doesn't mean we should trust you."

"And why, in bloody hell, would you try and help MacTavish?" Ghost added.

Shepard looked face to face, and sighed. "Because... I don't need another guy turning into dust like me. Consiter it me being generous, or just sorry..."

"Both of which you are incapable of." Soap retorted.

Shepard glared for a second, then shook his head. "All I can tell you is that if you want it work then you'll just have to trust me."

Everyone exchanged glances, none knew for sure what to think of this. But since it was Soap's wellbeing, it was his call, and he knew it. Whatever it was he would choose he'd need to deal with the desision for the next couple centuries before he can return.

* * *

><p>Everyone heard Nikolai's scream from the bathroom and were all gathered at the door in an instant. Price was in front of everyone, about to knock, when he figured that the man wouldn't just start screaming about anything. Something was genuinely wrong. So Price opened the door, via kicking it open.<p>

There Nikolai laid in a feedle position, a pool of blood around him slowly forming. Aside form that, all Price could point out that was odd was just the fact that there was NO WAY something could have inflicted the wound on Nikolai's back. It was a slash wound, right? Not saying that it was strange in the slightest, because it wasn't, but the Russian was also with an absence of his shirt, which was in a pile of fabric near the sink.

When Price and Yuri picked him up, the older noted how the blood was thinner, deluted by water. Clearly this had happened during or just after the unfortunate bastard took a shower. Without much time to waste, they moved him to his room and the medic was quick to patch up the wound.

"He should be alright soon. Just let him rest, he will be moving around in the morning for sure."

"Thanks." Price responded gruffly. "But I think I'll stay here with him, in case he does."

"Well when he does wake up, make sure he takes it easy." The medic added. "And if he's in too much pain, just call me in so I can give him something to dull it."

"I will." He assured, and with that, the medic left. But Yuri stood there in the room a little while longer. Price finally came to break the silence with a question. "Why are you still here?"

"Nikolai's a friend." Yuri sighed, seating himself in a chair, which he ended up sitting backwards and resting his chin on his hands. "I feel like I owe him... and someone else..."

"And who might that be?"

"It wouldn't matter who I told. It wouldn't change the image of me the guy has now." Yuri explained shaking his head. "And... I'm not sure what he'd say if I told him..."

"But who, Yuri?" Price questioned.

The Russian looked over his shoulder at the door and stood. "I think Demitre's calling me. I have to go." Price knew for a fact that no one had, but he didn't bother pushing for information when it was clear he wouldn't get an answer where he'd like it. He still has much to learn...

_"I can still teach you a thing or two, old man."_ Soap's voice echoed in his mind.

_I know you could, son... I wish you were still here..._ Price thought. _I'm starting to feel like I don't know myself anymore..._


	6. The Clock Tower

It was his choice, and his alone.

"Well? Are you gonna trust me?" Shepard asked again.

Soap, recovering from his blood loss and being shaken about like a ragdoll, sighed heavily and leaned against a building. It wasn't hard to remember Price supporting some of his weight as they passed through the nearby door. The thought gave him a chill. "I can't say I have much a choice here, do I? What would I be agreeing to anyways?"

Shepard smiled, in a somewhat insane, somewhat social way, "I found this out by listening in on a coversation between a couple of demon spawn. About how some people manage to escape death even when they've clearly died. It's simply a reserrection, but it can only be done through an agreement."

"With?" Roach gestured for him to continue.

"The Sealers." Shepard answered, as if it weren't a big deal. Judging by the way Ghost's mask contorted, and Roach's eyes widened, it was.

"The Sealers?" Ghost exclaimed. "You'd have to be mad! It's near suicide just making the trip! And when you get there you have to deal with three bickering powers who could insinerate you if you just mention a color they hate!"

Shepard's glare was solid at stone. But he looked away. "Near suicide for a rouge, or a new kill, sure. But not for you two doves. You could fly! And you know where the danger is."

"But MacTavish can't." Roach said slowly. "We can't go and just fly there because we need to make sure he gets there in one piece."

"And what would the agreement be?" Soap asked, deciding it would be a good thing to consiter.

Now Roach and Ghost stared at Soap, bathled, but Shepard looked to him evenly. "It's more like a bet. About someone who is still alive. No one is allowed to influence the person to make him do a thing that might tip the scales. You, since it's your life on the line, could make a bet on what someone might do in the future. You also have to predict when. So that Russian man you seem to look to, for example, you could say that you bet he'll be flyin a helicopter tomorrow."

"So all I need to do is place a bet on my friends' heads." Soap said, knitting his eyebrows.

"Exactly."

"MacTavish? You aren't actually consitering this, are you?" Ghost asked hesitantly.

"We should get moving." Soap answered, then grabbed Shepard by the shoulder and pushed him forward. "And you can show us where this place is."

"Fine. Go ahead and make me your prisoner, I'll help you still." Shepard easily agreed. This was unsettling.

* * *

><p>Four Days Later...<p>

Price stood in silence as he watched them finish carving Soap's name into the clocktower. Beside him stood Nikolai and Yuri. Though he wanted to be here alone, they insisted that they come along, Nikolai claiming that Soap was his friend too.

A hand on his shoulder made Price jump in surprise. He turned around to find himself staring at the familar face of MacMillian. The older didn't change much besides his dark auburn hair graying some more. His steely eyes held some rare form of sympathy that should have been long gone after all these years. The two stood in silent for a long minute before MacMillian pulled Price into a loose hug.

At first, Price was ridged, but he slowly took to the embrace and forced his burning eyes to keep the tears back. The older didn't say anything at first, just kept an arm over his now battleworn former student in the chill of the autumn air. His voice came quiet, "I'm sorry, lad. I'm sure that where ever Soap is now, he'll be happy to know you're still fine."

Price disengaged himself from MacMillian, looking at him like he was half dead himself. He had dark circles under his eyes from a lack of sleep and looked older than his years would care to explain. "I'm going after Makarov."

For a moment, the older didn't respond, he just held Price's gaze before sighing. "Should've figured you wouldn't let this go."

"He killed Soap," Price stated, surprised himself that his voice managed to keep steady. "He also is responcible for Sandman and his men dying. Face it, if he goes down, then the world is in a lot better a place."

"Aye, I'm not saying I don't agree with you." MacMillian replied. "I'm just saying, where on Earth could you even begin to look? The bastard's got a lot of friends and could be on the other side of the world by now."

"I know." Face set in some iron cast of determination and greif, Price didn't seemed swayed by MacMillian's fact. "But I'll find him. No matter what it takes. That bastard is going to hell."

More silence.

Then Yuri stepped in, "I know it is hard for you to trust me right now, Captain Price. But I-."

"It's alright, Yuri." Price cut in. "I'm going to have to trust you anyways. So don't do anything to give me reason not to."

At first, Yuri seemed shocked at Price's implied appology, then nodded.

"I'll be here to help." MacMillian told him. "All those men who died at his hands shouldn't been left unavenged."

"Dah, and I will be here as well." Nikolai proclaimed. "You will need someone to fly you anyways, my friend."

Price looked to Nikolai with a half smile, "Right, just don't crash yourself into another sandstorm. I don't need to hunt you down like last time."

The Russian laughed weakly, still somewhat pretrified from the insident, "I will try not to."

**Alright, sorry for the time skip. Just that I was looking up when all the dates the missions took place and found out that I've warped reality and made the Stronghold mission take place during the Down The Rabbit Hole mission cause I'm a derp. So yeah, my solution to everything... TIIIIIIIIIIIIME SKIIIIIIIIIIIP!  
>So yeah, hope you guys like. Tell me what you guys think so far and I'll be working on the next chapter as well as another story.<strong>


	7. I've Got An Idea

"So what's with this whole hunting down new kills?"

"Different reasons. For the ones down below, it's just to amass an army. They've never liked us."

"And for us, it's because we feel that their suffering should end in death."

"Very much so. And the Lost-."

"Are simply lost, Ghost. They were taken by phantoms and now they are trapped in their misshapen forms."

"You seem to know a lot about them, Shepard."

"Simple observations."

"Ghost?" Roach asked. "How much farther until we- SHIIIIIIIIII-!" Before anyone could tell, Roach had walked himself over the cliffside. Soap stared wide eyed before scrambling to the edge and looking down at the long drop and no sign of the younger.

"ROACH?" He called with no answer. "ROACH!"

"Quiet! You'll wake them!" Ghost hissed. "And Roach will be fine."

Soap wiped around and glared. "He just strolled right off the edge of a cliff! How can he be fine?"

"Hey guys!" Soap turned around fast as he saw Roach had flown back up, white wings beating in long strokes to keep him aloft. For a moment he felt his ears grow hot with embarrassment as the former Sergeant landed on the edge and tucked his wings into his back. "What'd I miss?"

"Only MacTavish's heart attack." Shepard answered in monotone. When Soap glared over his shoulder, he only looked back at him with a bored expression. "So what do we do about the cliff?"

Ghost was impossible to read, as always. He appeared to be studying the cliff before he turned back tot eh group and annouced, "I've got a plan, but play along."

"What kind of plan?" Roach asked. And Ghost pulled him to the side and whispered something to him, by the glances that shyed away when met, Soap had a bad feeling that this plan of Ghost's wasn't a good one. When the two returned, Roach looked almost unsure.

"Ghost what are you-?" There wasn't a chance to finish.

"NOW!"

Next thing he knew, Ghsot had landed himself at Soap, wings snapping out and beating as the two flew over the side. The once Captain squeezed his eyes shut and held a tight grip, unwilling to see himself falling towards the unseeable bottom. Even though wind roared in his ears, he could still hear Ghost's laugh.

"How you holding up, bug?"

Roach's voice, strained, complained, "He's heavy!"

With that, Soap dared to open an eye, seeing now how high up he actually was. It was terrifying, and he latched onto Ghost even tighter in fear of plumitting into some unknown fate. But he was well aware that he and Ghost were still well aloft, kept in the air with rising pockets of warm air and the very strength that seemed to be possessed in the mass of feathers on the man's back. If Ghost could continue to glide on the air without any trouble, he should be fine.

Nearby, Roach was gripping Shepard under his upper arms, showing much more strain than his friend. Shepard, though appearing nervous, didn't squirm about. He only stared down at the large bottomless pit below.

Unlike Shepard, Soap wasn't so calm. In his panick, he had rung his arms around Ghost's neck and wrapped his legs over the man's waist, tucking his head in as close to his shoulder as possible. The man barely seemed to mind. His only focus was on maintaining his altitude.

Then he felt a pat on his back. "You okay?" Ghost asked. "You're shaking like a leaf."

Was he really? As it turned out, he had been. Worried that his voice wouldn't hold if he spoke, he poked up his head and nodded.

"Maybe he's just not used to this." Roach guessed, passing Ghost and Soap a smile; he had managed to find some strength and wrapped his arms around Shepard's chest, locked his fingers in front to better hold the older. "Flying and all."

Soap frowned and tucked his head back in close, earning another couple pats from Ghost. "It won't be long, okay? We're almost to the other side."

Suddenly a shriek! Like a scratchy woman's voice, it was near deathening. Before he could tell, he and Ghost were smashed into, sending him to fall downwards, with Ghost dropping like a rock not far. Through his screaming and tumbling about in his decent, he caught a glimse at the long streak of red glow from a wound in his friend's abdomine.

"GHOST!" He heard Roach cry from above, the shape of the once Sergeant was shrinking fast. This was it! This was definately the end. The point of no return. No nothing after this. He was done for!


	8. You Can Talk To Him

"GHOST!"

_Aghhh... my head... what's Roach screaming about? What happened? I know I had nothing to do with it this time... I was just flying and- _flying? _MACTAVISH!_

His eyes snapped wide open as his senses returned. Now he could hear the Scot's screaming and the wind rushing by his ears. Not far, he could see him. All it took was a twist of his body and strong few beats of his wings to right himself before he swooped in to catch the falling man.

Now in his arms, he held onto Soap as the former Captain pulled in close. If he was terrified before, he was mortified now. He was hyperventilating and his grip was to the point where it was bone breaking. His knuckles turned white from holding on so tight, and his jaw tight and eyes sealed closed.

It took much an effort with the extra weight, but Ghost managed to raise up to the opposite side of the ravine where Roach was waiting. Looking pale with releif.

"You're okay!" He cheered weakly.

Ghost nodded and put Soap down. The man's eyes were wide with horror like a deer in the headlights. His usually moderately tanned skin lost it's color. In that moment, Ghost was scared that he might permenately loose the man due to shock. You die once, you come here. You die again in here, you're gone forever, or at least that's what he thinks. Maybe there's another demention after this. But you know what? Why am I even bothering with contemplating this? This just might be like dividing by zero for all we know, and we all know what that leads us to.

Does not compute. Error. Blue screen of death. The world ending as we know it. The usual.

"Tavish?" Ghost said shakily, trying to catch the man's attention, because as it was he was only staring off at nothing. Beyond what he could see. "MacTavish, answer me, dammit!" By now he was shaking him around, but still no responce. Or even a sign of his noticing.

In the not so distance, they could hear the howl of a dog as well as another banchee screech. They didn't have time to sit and wait for him to gather his bearings. They needed to move, and soon.

"I'll carry him." Shepard told him.

Ghost glared up at him, "What?" He could've sworn he heard Shepard ask to-

"I said I'll carry him." The old man repeated. "Those lost aren't gonna stay on the other side forever, they'll be on us in seconds. I know where to go, just let me carry MacTavish so we can get out of here."

"No. How do I know if you're not just gonna run off with him?" Ghost objected. Another screech, the lost were closer.

"You'll just have to trust me."

"I'll never trust you." He retorted, and took Soap by the forearm to pull him to his feet. Luckily, the distant Scot was still in the state of mind where he knew he had to move his feet. It made his job a lot easier. "Just get moving, we'll follow..."

"Fine." Clearly Shepard was a little hurt by Ghost's claim. Good. Let him be hurt. He deserves it. "The Sealers are to the West. This way." And with that, he started towards the setting sun.

* * *

><p>He felt as though he were outside himself and yet he wasn't. He knew when to step forward, but yet it felt like it wasn't himself controlling his movements. Instead of being right where he should be, in control, he wasn't. He was off in some distant realm in his mind, where his memories had captured his attention and trapped him in an endless turrent.<p>

_"I'm sorry."_

_Somehow he felt himself seeing Price place the M1911 on his chest after he died. Eyes closed and head bent down in mourning. Yuri just stared at him, mouth open as if to say something before shutting it. After the silence, he watched Price take his journal and dogtags off of his body and the windows explode as bullets sprayed into the room._

_"You can talk to him, you know."_

_He knew that voice. Though similiar to another face he had come to know, he would never forget this one. "Gaz?"_

_"Good to see I've not been forgotten." The voice chuckled. "You can talk to Captain Price."_

_"How?"_

_"Think. How did I talk to you?"_

_Soap looked up at nowhere. "In my sleep. But-?"_

"It's no different, mate." Gaz intercepted. "Just try to reach him, and talk to him."

_With that, he sighed, "Alright. But-."_

_"No 'buts', just do it." The Brit said a little more seriously._

_And so Soap tried to reach out to Price, hoping Gaz was right. 'Please, Price. Hear me.'_


	9. We're Running Out Of Time

Price could barely stand the high pitched tweening in his head. At first, it was nothing, just a slight ring and he figured it would go away. But it hadn't, it only got louder and now he couldn't just shrug it off. It was just down right aggrivating now. Finally he just decided on trying to go to sleep, hoping that he'd feel a little better when he woke up.

He closed his eyes, trying to calm his racing thoughts. But somehow he couldn't keep them closed. He had to open them again. But the moment he peeled his eyelids open, he found himself somewhere else entirely. Below him was a lake, the surface only barely disturbed as he placed his hand towards the water. It was weird, there was no glass, nothing between him and the water, as if the liquid were a solid and he could sit on the surface without falling through.

"Well I'm surprised, it actually worked." A familiar voice chuckled. Price twisted himself at the midsection to see behind him. There stood Soap, just as he remembered him before his demise. The same face he had grown so used to, the same voice, and the same coy grin was there. Mentally he kicked himself, this was just some dream, Soap was dead.

He knew it couldn't be real, he was sitting on water! Water! He should have fallen through! But somehow he hadn't. And that could only confirm that this was just a dream. And Soap was another, it was just his mind holding onto the man, unwilling to let his memory rest in his mind.

Soap's grin faded by the lack of responce. "Let's not get too excited." Still no responce. "Price?" Now he appeared worried.

"This is just a dream..." Price sighed, partly to himself. And to the spectur before him.

The man walked towards him, only disturbing the water with light ripples that went out in all directions. "I know, but I couldn't find another way to contact you." He explained, putting a hand on his shoulder. "But it's really me."

Price shook his head. "You're just my imagination. My mind's just haunting me..."

With this, Soap sighed heavily and kneeled in front of him. "If I was just your imagination, could I do this?" He then took hold of Price's forearm, fingers like ice. It made goosebumps rise that the man himself could feel to his bones.

But it didn't mean he was convinced. "The mind plays many tricks. Some hallucinations more real than others. I know you're not here."

"No. You THINK I'm not here." Soap corrected. "Face it, old man, you're just surprised. I'm really here, just not in person."

"If it's not in person, than I know it's just a dream or my greif is messing with me..." Price stated flatly. He was in denial. And he thought that if he kept telling himself once that if he believed Soap was alive then he might just come back. He had come to terms with the man's death, so why was it he wanted to believe this was real. It felt real. "This is just a vivid dream..."

Head in his hand for a second, Soap grumbled something. Probably annoyed by Price's reluctance to accept what was going on. Finally he met his eyes. "I'm running out of time, don't make me waste it. I'm here to tell you that you need to kill Makarov. Rid this world of that disaster. If not to avenge me, then for the sake of millions who are still at risk, and for the people who he's already killed."

Price nodded.

"And Price, Yuri..." His voice was starting to fade, his figure just beginning to vanish. "Shite. I- You need to-" And with that he was gone. Price stared in shock.

"No. No, Soap! Come back!" He was just realizing what his neglecting the truth had brought him. Now Soap couldn't tell him whatever it was that he needed to know. What was he going to say about Yuri? He couldn't be sure. If he had listened, if he just accepted what was there... Again he lost Soap because he did something wrong. If only he patched him up when they stopped, he'd still be alive. This was his fault!

Suddenly he fell through, water bubbling around him, leaving him submerged as the surface escaped him. He found himself sitting up in his bed, head throbbing, and sweat trickling down the back of his neck; feeling frozen in the cool autumn air. He put his head in his hands and just tried to comprehend what he saw. What he heard.

* * *

><p>Soap blinked dazily and groaned in discomfort. The ground was moving, the world was moving slowly. A dirt trail was right under him, his toes scoring a trail in the path as he was being dragged. Slowly he lifted his head to see through unfocused vision Shepard walking ahead. He barely even turned his head to see the side of Ghost's mask, and turn the other way to see the opposite side of Roach's young face.<p>

"Whass goin' on?" Some drowy effect had taken over, where his words were formed rather slurred.

Ghost and Roach both stopped moving at once when they heard him, and then rushed to a tree at the side of the path to rest Soap up against it. The former was first to ask, "Are you alright, Captian? We thought we lost you."

"I'm fine..." He told him groggily. "Wha' happened?"

Roach answered before his friend had the chance. "Ghost caught you and brought you back up to the other side. Seems those Lost are really trying to get you. When he got you up, you went into shock and thought you were a goner."

"I did?" He barely even remembered what happened. Only the screaming and the sense of falling, and trying to tell Price something he couldn't even remember anymore. But he knew it was important. But what? He'd remember later if it was really important.

He pushed away form the tree, attempting to stand on his own, only to find his knees weak. Ghost steadied him, "Are you sure you'll be able to walk?"

"I'll be fine, Ghost." He assured, voice loosing the slur. "How close are we to those Sealer people?"

"They aren't actually people." Ghost corrected. "And we're only a few days walking. It'd go by faster if we could fly though."

Soap's mouth went dry. "No. I think we can deal with the extra time."

Roach narrowed his eyes then gasped, "I don't mean to alarm anyone, but you might wanna look at yourself."

He knew by the alarm in his voice that it couldn't be good. So he lifted his hand up, and surely enough, there were cracks beginning to form. It felt almost uncomfortable. Shepard had taken notice and stepped him, examining Soap's hand.

"We're running out of time. He's turning into a rougue." He stated. "If you want to get resurrected, then we need to hurry."

Ghost nodded. "So we fly?"

"Like we have any other choice?" Roach concluded.

Soap stared wide eyed at all three. "But can't we just-?"

"We need to go, and we need to go now." Ghost reasoned. "Just hang on, I won't drop you this time."

"I find that hard to believe..." Soap grumbled to him, and found himself pulled upwards off the ground. Roach and Shepard behind them. At this rate, they should be there in a couple of days.


	10. The Sealers

It looked almost like one of those old haunted manors. The stone was an ebony with dead straggly ivy vines creeping up the walls. Windows too filthy to let in any light, and cold seeped into the very marrow of his bones as Ghost set him down on the limestone walkway to the door. It was large, the mohagony wood appeared darker than it should have, and there hung a tarnished knocker which was expertly shaped to resemble a creature of which Soap couldn't reconize. The snout of it was sneering and the knocker itself hung from large nostrils like a nose ring. Not truely a bull because there was something canine about it.

He didn't even touch the knocker before an eerie voice seemed to whisper, "Enter..." MacTavish looked to the others to confirm that they too had heard the voice. And they seemed about as freaked as he was. His last nerves were being spent on not trembling and keeping his own voice steady.

No one had touched the door either. It swung open, double doors smacking the walls inside loud enough to make even Ghost flinch just slightly. He didn't think it was possible, but colder air was escaping the manor from the open door. They stepped inside, and they all swung around when the doors slammed shut behind them. Shepard even rushed to them and tucked on the knob in vain before giving up and returning to them.

"We're locked in." He stated, fear edging into his tone.

Ghost seemed to roll his eyes and walked ahead towards the door on the opposite side of the grand entrance. Or it once was. The stairs had once been two large and elegant ones on either sides of the room, winding up to the large balcony above. Between them was another door. Now he could tell that once the place was beautiful. The rails were of the finest metals and had once gleamed in candlelight of the crystal chandelleir, the wooden staircase had once been covered with the finest of scarlet carpetting, and the marble floor had once been a pale gray that appeared a warmer amber when the room was lit by flickering flames. Now the once gleaming handrails of the stairs were tarnished and lost their golden color, the stairs appeared rotting, carpet was stained and torn off in some places, and the crystal chandelleir was crashed in the very center of the room. The diamond looking gems didn't catch a glimmer of light anymore. The place looked sad, and miserable to him.

"I'm sure this place must've been great in its day." He sighed, eyeing the decaying paintings on the wall in the darkness of the room.

"Too right, mate." Ghost responced, fingers running over the dust covered door; it left long trails where he had touched it. "Let's get this over with."

With a push, the door opened and they stepped inside the inky black that vailed over the was almost like stepping into a freezer. Goosebumps rose across Soap's arms, but he barely seemed to notice. His eyes were trying to adjust to the dark. Then everything flashed to white, leaving them all blinded for a moment before the light settled to a dull flame light illumination that allowed them to see the room around them.

There on three sides of the room were alone figures. And as they became clear. He was stunned. The one on the far right was an almost feminine face, smooth, glowing snowy skin and eyes bright. The hair was long platinum blonde waves tumbling down in a rippling cascade down a slender figure. The far left was the complete opposite. A dark skinned and scarred muscular being who bore a sneer that reveiled jagged teeth and crimson eyes narrowed. The one in the center was the most unsettling. Unlike the two on the sides, this one was a skeletal thin thing, as if it were just a set of bones with gray skin stretched over that. The face was shocking. Almost no face at all. The nose was just a hole in the face, and the person's mouth was just teeth uncovered because the lips seemed to of just fallen off. The eyes, they were just dark holes with dried red crust around them.

"Are you the Sealers?" Ghost asked, one of his wings twitched.

The voice that answered sounded like it was one of the more song-like accents. But he couldn't place what one. "Yes, we are. To whom are we to speak with?"

Soap took a step forward from the group. "I am." It surprised himself how steady he spoke. "I have come to you hoping for another chance."

The dark one answered him. "A second chance." He almost seemed to laugh in the most taunting of ways. As if to ignite a spark in him which would cause him to burst out in anger. "You died, you foolish soul. Can't bring back what's left."

The feminine person on the opposite side of the room stared at the dark man with a neutral expression before casting Soap one of sympathy. "You did pass, I am sorry. But there is so little we can do for you."

Dark guy here laughed again, "And he's a rougue! We don't help their kind!"

"We are open to ALL spirits, Diabolo." The lighter said. "Not just those whom fall under our ranks. Those who do, we may not help in that matter. But one who has not been tainted by any single faction, there still might be something we could do."

Shepard must have moved while Soap wasn't looking because he whispered right in his ear, "I told you. Give me your hand quick." Soap shot him a glare out of the corner of his eye. Why should he give him his hand? This was just odd and strange.

"Why?" He asked quietly.

"Just do it." Shepard answered, voice low. When Soap didn't comply, he took his hand and gripped around his fingers. The younger nearly whipped around and shouted at him, but Shepard added, "Just don't move."

He then realized that the pain that was once in his hand was fading. And when he touched his fingers to one another, he could feel his familiar calloused fingertips instead of the crumbling stone that was there a moment ago. "Bu- how?"

"I took the damage you were sustaining for you." He answered gruffly, at the very edge of his vision, he could see the cracks that were etched on Shepard's face had grown more provenate, and his earlobe had fallen off. What would jump up to surprise Soap next?


	11. The Bet

That was when Shepard stepped forward. "He is no rougue, Sealers. He is a new kill."

The dark one, Diabolo, glared at him. "I knew I smelled a rougue in here. Get out of my sight before I turn you to dust."

Bravely, Shepard scoffed, "I already am. You'd be doing me a favor by just ending it."

With that, Diabolo sunk back into his bone seat, fingers weaved together as he growed lowly. "And why should we help him?"

Before he could let Shepard respond, Soap came to answer for him. "How about I make a bet with you, for my wellbeing."

To this, Diabolo seemed to grin, and the lighter spirit appeared unnerved by this but hadn't uttered a word of refusal. Clearly the Sealers were curious of his proposal. Now, beside him Shepard casted some rare form of an approving smile, one so quick that it faded as soon as it came.

"Go on, Newbie." Diabolo gestured.

Taking a breath, Soap steeled his nerves before continuing. "I will bet on the actions of someone I knew in life." Then he grinned. "How about, for added fun, you pick who we wager on."

Now that grin turned into a sinister smile. He casted up the flames in the pit in the center of the room to roar upwards. The heat was horrible to them, since they were growing used to the freezing air. In the fire, an image began to form. The face, the figure, the boonie. It was Price! Perfect! Just as he hoped. Diabolo didn't seem to notice the victory that shined in his eyes. "The last man you laid eyes on in life. You know him. What's your bet?"

Soap crossed his arms, appearing to be in deep concentration. "Him? I dunno... The man's very... difficult to predict." Then he played up his reaction to an idea that he already had. "I got it. My bet is he'll kill a Vladimir Makarov. In the next four months time. If I win, then I return to the land of the living. And Makarov will be all yours."

Diabolo chuckled deeply. "And if I win, you will join my ranks as another one of my spawn."

Upon hearing this, Soap felt like shouting that the deal was off, but he instead nodded in agreement. This was going to decide his future. And if he were to return to the living, then he needed to take this risk. Unfortunately, by the look that Ghost had casted him, it seemed that his once XO wasn't entirely in agreement with this. He'd just need to put up with it.

"Remember, no influencing either John Price, or Vladimir Makarov. They must do this on their own."

"I understand." Soap responded in a rather solid tone. "But either way, you still win. So what is there for you to worry about?"

Diabolo hummed as he stroked his chin with long nailed fingers. "I'll get back to you on that one, Newbie. Now get out of here. I will summon you in four months time, unless this Price kills Makarov early. Then I will summon you then. For now, leave."

With a curt nod, Soap turned and left. "Thank you." He gestured for Ghost and the others. "Come on."

Once they left, Diabolo laughed, hitting the bone arm of his chair. "THAT WAS TOO EASY!"

His brother, Angelo, seemed to not agree. "You are not keeping your word?"

"Oh, I am. And I'd better hold that new kill keeps his. Or I'll fry him." Diabolo cackled.

* * *

><p><em>"Price..."<em> He twitched ever so slightly in his sleep. But now he was practically rolling over on his side in the restless dreams that plagued his mind. They were no long dreams, just nightmares. _"It's bloody good to hear from you, mate!"_

Chest raising and falling faster as he was practically panting, cold sweat trickled over his skin as his fingers gripped to covers a little tighter. His eyes underneath the lids flickered back and forth, a tell tale sign of a very active dream.

_"Goodbye, Captain Price..."_

"No... no..." He turned over again as the scene played through his mind. Finally, he shot up to a sit as he practically shouted, "Mac!"

And there he was. Just sitting in his dimmly lit room. Once again back on base, and away from the mirror realm that was his darker and horrible dreams. It was very early morning, as the clock reading out in bright blue numbers 4:27 read. The only light came from the pale moon shining it's silvery cast down in through the window of his quarters.

Heart pounding and mouth dry as sandpaper, Price whipped some of the sweat from his forehead with his wrist. Then he took a shakey breath. It had only been a dream. A screwed up, mortifyingly vivid dream. He could attempt to forget the blood curtling screams, the sneer, and more of his close friends dead at his feet, but it wouldn't shake from his mind. He put his head in his hands as he was muttering curses at his mind. At Makarov. At Shepard. At Zhekeov. At the world. All for causing him to come to this.

But then again, being in military, it was expected you might see things you want to forget. You see the most haunting of scenes and the saddest of them too. He knew men who lost limbs in service, and he knew men who died in it as well. There were also people he knew who were mentally scarred for life because of the things they had seen. Soap being one of those men. It was almost funny. He remembered the beginning of the man's work here, how he was so untouched and acting like he was able to take on an army. When in just six days, he had changed. No longer so unprepared, or so easily startled. He was able to put Zhekeov down when Price couldn't 15 years prior. Then he found him again five years later, already a Captain. He hadn't seen a man grow up like that. And he knew well that he had obviously earned it. And he had seen the man's death, where at the time he was so much more introverted and calm. But even through it all, his sense of humor remained intacted somehow.

Just the thought of the man was hard on him as it was. But now as he looked over their over all relationship, the strong friendship that had been forged from loyalty and time, it made his eyes burn and blur. If only... if only he could turn back time and fix the day of his death. Patched his wound as best he could before moving on to the safehouse. He could still have that friend by his side today.

On his endtable sat the black book. This time, he picked it up, flicking on his light in the process, and opened it. This would be how he spent the next hour and a half until he would need to pick some new recruits for the 141.


	12. I'm Coming For You

"Who is this?"

"Prisoner 6-2-7." He answered lowly. "I'm coming for you, Makarov."

The terrorist's raspy voice responded. "Haven't you heard, Price. They say the war is over."

"My war ends with you."

"Like it ended for Captain MacTavish?" Makarov chuckled. "Tell me, Price. How long did it take him to die?"

With his jaw tightened and fist clenched, Price didn't answer. He begun to wonder if he gripped the phon any tighter, would it snap in his hand? For a long second, he fought to calm himself, looking to the black journal and dogtags on his desk. Soap's possessions. It made his heart tear just thinking of the life leave him. Then, fingers tightly grasping the red marker, he circled Makarov's location; Hotel Oasis. The Arabian Penninsula. If it weren't for the three and a half months of tracking then they probably wouldn't have the place.

"I've dystoried your world piece by piece." Makarov continued. "It's only a matter of time until I find you."

Voice like stone, Price replied. "You won't have to look far." And with that, he put the phone down and stared back at the map. "You might not have to look at all..."

He stood up from the desk and left his quarters, going straight to the hanger. The one place where he knew Nikolai would be. Of course, he found him, doing a check on a pavelow. When he saw Price coming, he smiled kindly.

"What did he say?" He asked, uncapping a bottle of water before taking a swig.

Price sighed, still thinking about the conversation. "Which one? MacMillian or Makarov?"

To this Nikolai did some off shoot of a spit take. He was about to exclaim something while he had water in his mouth but instead ended up choking on the liquid and letting it spill out past his lips with a string of Russian curses. After a coughing fit on the water he inhaled, he managed to finally say, "ARE YOU CRAZY? YOU CALLED _MAKAROV_?"

Price shook his head. "I might as well be. It's not that he knows that I know where he's currently hiding."

"What did he say?" Nikolai questioned, though wasn't exactly sure he was willing to hear the answer.

"I told him I was coming after him, and he tried to make me loose my composure..." Price sighed. "'It's only a matter of time until I find you', he had said." He himself was impressed with his immitation of Makarov. "I just said he wouldn't have to look far."

"In other words he now knows we're after him." Nikolai reworded.

"He would have found out anyways." Price pointed out. "The bastard's been able to run and hide for too long. We need to put an end to it."

Nikolai sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead with a gloved hand, and leaving some grease in the process on his face. "Where are we flying?"

"Hotel Oasis." Price answered. "In the Arabian Penninsula."

* * *

><p>Four months almost up...<p>

Soap found himself getting more and more nervous as the days passed. Price probably was close, right? He had to be! It was already January! And in 10 days, his time would be up! On midnight January 22nd, he would be demon spawn if Price doesn't kill Makarov.

And, indirectly, he sort of cheated...

He had made locating Makarov just a little easier for Baseplate, messing with their equipment and such to give them an easier time tracking him. Though his influence was small, it still could be used against him. He needed to cover his trails to be sure that Diabolo didn't figure out.

But it was only a matter of time now until he was found out...

**I know, short chapter. Didn't know what the write. So what's the next best solution to the problem for me? More TIIIIIIIIIIIIME SKIIIIIIIIIIIIPS! I think you guys know where this fic is headed. Or you think you do. Just wait and you'll find out.  
>So yeah...<br>Any guesses? Let me know.  
>And see you guys next chapter.<strong>


	13. Goodbye

This was it...

No turning back now.

In the truck with him sat Yuri, both of them in juggernaut armor. He assumed it would protect them. It should. It was virtually bullet proof. Now aside from that, he could hear one of Makarov's mercenaries ordering them to leave the truck.

Yuri looked to him with worry on his face. "You sure this armor will protect us?"

"It'll buy us some time." Price answered flatly before going on the comm to speak to his eye inside the building. "Nikolai, are you patched into their system?"

"Working on it." Nikolai responded. "My Arabic's a little rusty."

That's when they opened fire on the truck, and bullets peppered the door. Yuri glanced at the holes then back at Price. "Looks like they know we're here."

Suddenly the corner of Prices helmet flickered before a video feed started to play. He could distinctly see Makarov in the image. Nikolai annouced, "I've tapped into their security feed. Makarov's in the atrium on the top floor."

"This is it. Makarov doesn't leave here alive." He then picked up his machine gun and started to get it ready. "Get ready."

Yuri pulled on his helmet, hiding his face away from view, then tapped ready on the side of it. They both stood up and got to the door.

"This is for Soap."

With a strong kick, the door flew open and they walked out guns ablaze. The mercenaries didn't stand a chance as a revenge fueled Price gunned them down without a second thought about it. They were helping Makarov, and that made them enemies.

As they drew closer, Nikolai noted, "Makarov's got a small army in there."

"It won't help him." Price assured. "Take control of the lifts so he can't escape."

"I'm on it." Nikolai stated.

When they made it inside, they fought their way up the escalators as civilians were running about in desperate attempts to escape.

"Nikolai, where's Makarov?"

"Still in the atrium, but he's on the move!"

"Don't loose him! We're almost there!"

At the second floor, they continued to shoot out the mercenaries, pushing for the lifts. To which, Nikolai told them he was sending on up. When they got htere, Price felt a slight bit edgy with the knowlodge that he was drawing closer to his target. Another feed came on in his helmet showing Makarov with a few from his inner circle.

"Makarov's moved to the restaurant, same floor! He's got a large security detail with him." Nikolai informed.

"What kind of opposition is waiting for us?" Price asked.

"Forty-plus foot mobiles! SMGs and Assault Rifles." His friend answered. Then there was a thumping sound that Price reconized all too well. "Enemy choppers closing on your position."

"One is heading for the roof, probably going for Makarov." Price guessed. The other came level with the elevator and opened fire. Without second thought, both Price and Yuri fire at it. "Shoot it down!"

When the older managed to hit the rotor, he thought it was over. As did Yuri. The Russian lowered his gun. "Good shot."

But their luck was in short supply, the helicopter veered towards the lift, crashing into it as Price could only manage to shout, "Look out!"

Knocked on the floor, Price distantly watched as Yuri tore off the flaming pads and helmet, throwing them in random directions. He then proceeded to pull the padding off of Price. "Our armor's shredded!" When he was free of the armor, Price stood up on weak knees. He could feel the elevator lurch as Yuri continued, "Nikolai, we need another lift!"

"Copy, on it's way."

The lift shook again, just as another lift made it up. Yuri shot the glass and jumped to it. He turned back to Price. "Jump!"

No more time, Price launched himself off the burning lift just as it fell, and barely made it to the other. He took a second to collect himself before standing. If he missed, he would have a long trip down...

"Makarov's chopper just touched down! He's heading there now!"

"He's not getting away!"

Be careful, they're setting up barricades!"

That's when the door opened, and Yuri threw in a gernade. And with that they were on the move.

"Watch yourself, Yuri! Your armor's gone!" Price warned.

They moved through the floor, shooting down the mercenaries as they went. Then they reached the restraunt. He could see him! He wasn't about to get away! Not now! In a matter of moments, Makarov was up the staircase.

Before he could chase him, a helicopter shot at them, the windows exploded and the floor tilted downwards. Everyone started to stumble, falling out of the building! Price had just enough time, barely. He grabbed a reneinforcement pole before he met the same fate. His assault rifle, well that was history. The helicopter continued up to the roof, to pick up Makarov he guessed. He turned to see Yuri, impaled to the floor by a metal rob, his hands grasping it in feeble attempts to free himself of it.

"Yuri..." Price started towards him, but the younger shook his head.

"Leave me!" He demanded. "Don't let him get away!"

Getting to his feet, Price casted Yuri a sorry look as he ran for the roof, leaving him behind.

Yuri meanwhile, continued to grip the rob, pulling it out of himself in a poccess that was slow and aggonizing. He couldn't let this be his fate. He needed to go after him.

Price ran up to the roof just in time to see Makarov board and it take off. But he didn't stop running, he wouldn't give up yet!

Somehow he could feel a familiar presense, one that fueled the fire in his heart to keep going. He launched himself off the ledge, grabbing onto the landing grip of the chopper. In the cockpit above him, the pilot looked down and was about to kick him off, but he knocked his foot away and punched his face before pushing him out. The co-pilot whipped out his pistol, but too late. Price knocked his hand down as he pulled the trigger, shooting the control panels, then pulled his knife and stabbed him in the throat. Pushing his body out afterwards. Now with the controls on fire, Price grasped the joystick to control the decent. But it wouldn't work, he and Makarov still crashed to the roof.

... _"Price... wake up..."_

Pain speared him like shards of ice as Price opened his eyes to find himself staring at his own reflection in the glass. Blood was dripping from cuts on his face and staining it red. Then in front of him, he could see the crashed helicopter in front of him, Makarov was limping away.

Just a meter in front of him was a desert eagle, his last chance to kill him. With his left arm in too much pain to move, he resorted to his right to drag himself towards it. Makarov saw it as well, and started towards him to get it. Just as he wrapped his fingers around the barrel, the terrorist stomped on his hand in order to take the pistol. Craddling his own left close to his torso, Makarov took aim on him. _"I'll see you in hell"_ seemed to repeat itself in his mind.

"Goodbye, Captain Price..." Makarov near whispered, voice horse.

But before he could pull the trigger, a bullet struck him in the shoulder! Price looked over to see Yuri, now free of the rod aiming at Makarov, ready to finish it. But his hesitation only killed him in the end, Makarov shot him down without any second thought.

Despite the loss of his life, Yuri's sacrific wasn't in vain. It provided just enough time for Price to scramble to his feet and tackle Makarov over. He hooked his fists at the Russian's face before his eyes caught the sight of a cord. He spent no time in wrapping it around Makarov's neck before gripping it in his fists so he could push it down to the glass. As he pulled the man up, he latched the cord to make a noose before he slammed him down into the glass. It shattered underneath, letting them fall as Makarov screamed. When the cord prevented him from falling any more, Price was sent falling to the atrium floor as the noose proceeded to strangle the man.

He pressed his lips together as he stared at the body for a long moment, then pushed away from the edge and leaned against the wall. Exhaust and pain hindered his movements as Price pulled out his pack of cigars and then a lighter before he proceeded to smoke as he watched Makarov's body swaying limply by the cord. The distant sound of police sirens came to his ears. He puffed the smoke of his cigar as he sighed heavily.

_I can't believe it..._ Price thought distantly. "It's over..." _Finally over..._


	14. What Did He Even Say

Soap stood in the room with him, though he couldn't see him, he smiled with victory. He watched as Price kicked away from the edge, stare at Makarov's body, then light a cigar. It was only ten minutes before Nikolai had showed up and the two left.

He then found himself returning to the Sealers with Shepard and Ghost. Roach had to go and find Yuri, where ever the hell he ended up. It was weird seeing Makarov's soul, or what was left. He looked rather deformed.

Unfortunately, he would need to come to terms with his interfearing with Price and Makarov. Though very indirect, it apparently still counted. Diabolo wasn't happy with it.

"Cheat! You had contact with them! This is unacceptable!"

Soap put on his best emotionless face. "The terms were that I not inferfear with Captain Price or Vladimir Makarov. And I didn't. Only a couple of people who they come in contact with."

"That still counts!"

"Be more specific with your terms, and maybe you won't run into this problem."

"I'm closing the portal, you are not going back to the land of the living!" He roared.

He felt someone push him forward, and looked over his shoulder to see that person was Shepard. The old man shouted, "God damn it, MacTavish! Run! Get in while you have a chance!"

No need for the encouragement, Soap was already sprinting towards the white disk that had formed on the wall. Behind him, he could heard a scream, and guessed Shepard was finally finished off. He jumped in, but none soon enough.

"Fine! You get you're prize! But you will not remember the world!" Diabolo shouted behind him as white engulfed him. He could distantly heard Ghost's scream of mercy before the white faded to black with the sounds of fire and screaming slowly vanishing.

Almost as though he were next to him, he could tell Ghost was holding onto him. "Hold onto what you know, and I'll be here for you."

"Ghost..." He blinked hazily as the image of his friend slowly faded away into the darkness. His body going numb as he found himself falling. And he could only wait until he hit the bottom.

* * *

><p>Price was walking in the base, refusing to rest while his wounds healed. He just couldn't. No matter how much he tried to sleep, he couldn't slow his mind and keep his eyes closed for more than a few seconds. Everytime he tried he would see those last few seconds of Makarov's life, play in his mind over again. Hear his last scream before the noose tightened around his neck and strangled him.<p>

As he entered his quarters, a sharp pain shot through him, his body frozen stiff before his knees gave way and let him collapse on the floor. Despite the cold he felt, he was sweating. He couldn't get enough air in his lungs as he desperately tried to take in as much as he could. He grasped onto his chest, spots appearing in his vision, then as quickly as this suffication came, it ended.

He took a few deep breaths, mind spinning, before he looked up to the photos on the wall. One had been burned in the corner somehow, removing Soap's arm from the image. He could only guess that someone came in and lit the picture on fire then put it out, but he wasn't so sure. He usually locked his door, so how would someone get in here?

Price shook off the questions and put Soap's journal in his nightstand, where he felt like it was a little safer. Then left to see Nikolai. But he was sure the man was still mourning the loss of Yuri, so he doubted he'd get much a word in with him.

* * *

><p>Shepard's fried.<p>

MacTavish is probably find himself clueless.

And I'm stuck explaining this whole situation to Roach while he gives some Russian named Yuri the grand tour of the afterlife.

Oh joy...

"What the hell did Diabolo even say?" He asked.

"That Tavish would get his prize, but he wouldn't remember the world." I answered lowly. "And I'm sure I already know what he means..."

"MacTavish?" This Yuri guy looked at the two of us with a puzzled expression. "You mean Soap?"

Roach sighed heavily. "Yes, Yuri. We mean Soap. But neither of us EVER referred to him as that, so don't expect us to now."

"Alright." He looked down. "What happened to him?"

I glanced at him sharply. "He made a deal with probably the most evil creature to come back to life. And it worked... but not entirely as we hoped. I need to make sure now that he won't get himself killed. At least until he's back on his feet."

"And if what you say is true," Roach added. "then you might be with him for a little while."


	15. Rebirth Ehhhh Sort Of

His head felt like it was being pounded on the inside by a hammer, his body felt cold, and his midsection throbbed harshly. With a low groan, he sat up, using his elbow to keep him from falling back down, and looked at his surroundings. A darkly painted room with clutter strewn across the floor and tables and shelves. He himself was one a wooden table, darkened with long dried blood.

When he pushed himself up completely, an object which had been resting on his chest fell on his thigh. He looked down at it to see a pistol. An M1911, he knew somehow, despite not knowing how he could have knowlodge of firearms. With numb fingers, he took hold of it, holding onto the sense of something familiar. Something that held some warmth of memory which tried to push through his mind...

_A man with a mustashe, he felt he should know his name but couldn't place one, slid him that pistol. And he used it to shoot a one armed guy who was about to kill him._  
><em>That man again showed up, wearing a knit hat and dirty clothes with his mustashe grown to a beard, and he had handed the pistol back to him. And when he had the pistol aimed at him before they reconized each other, the bearded man called him "Soap". In the breif moment of shock, he called the man "Price".<em>

Who was this man? He wasn't sure. But he knew he should. He knew that he had known at least a name. Something. Then another thought passed his mind, maybe if he found him, he could find out who he was. He probably knew him too, right? So this mysterious bearded man was his best bet.

Problem was, he had no idea where he or the man were. No clue where to go. Some instinct told him not to trust anyone, that everyone was his enemy. With hope, he could find the answers. But pushing his mind to the breaking point wasn't an option, he wanted to know if he would remember in time, if things would start to come back.

And that man called him "Soap". What the hell? Was it his name or something? Maybe it was, maybe not. He wasn't sure at all. But it was all he had to go on, his only clue besides who he could look for. Now where to go is the question.

He sat in the room for a long hour until he concluded that it couldn't hurt to look around. If he was lucky, very lucky, he'd bump into the mysterious man in the breif memories he saw.

At some point, he came across the street, where he saw the windows of a store were being repaired, and few people were walking about. But he felt strange, like he was there before, which could be it. But somehow it felt worse than simply a sense of reconizition. Something dark and eerie about the place haunted him, and he had repressed the memories so that he might fight back whatever horror would face him should he ever see.

No matter how hard he tried, he could not keep them back.

_"Just leave me, Price..."_

_"No! I'm getting you out of this!"_

His knees felt weak, and he used the wall for support as he was forced to take the force of his mind, collecting the lost information as best he could. Despite his heavy breathing, and his beginning to tremble, he didn't stop. He went through a store and into an alley, where he saw a dumpster with a dark stain in the front.

_"Just patch me up... Get me back in this..."_

_"We need... Nikolai... get us out..."_

_"You can make it, Soap!"_

The pressure around him was immence, he could hardly breathe at that point. Whoever he was, he must have known a lot of people... and he was probably dangerous. He only needed to see the pistol, the second one strapped to his leg, and a combat knife in a shealth on his vest to get the message.

To that, he knew that finding this man, Price would be very important...

**You guys remember what Diabolo said last chapter? Yeah... this is what he meant. Pour confused Soap...**


	16. COME ON

_A month later..._

Price looked at the calander again. February 26th. No matter how long he stared at the date, it wouldn't change. It had still been a little over a month since he killed Makarov.

Hell, he'd never forget the look of astonishment, anguish, worry, fear, and releif all flash in Nikolai's expression at once when he found him. Astonished to see the terrorist's body hanging on a cord and seeing his friend smoking as he watched it sway. Anguish for their loss of Yuri. Worry for Price's mental health, he had been for the past couple of months anyways. Fear of how they would explain this whole event to the police that were rushing up the stairs at that very moment. And releif in knowing it was all over.

But Price had remained cold to everyone since...

One of the only men he could have ever gotten close to died right in front of his eyes, and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

Then three more men die to save him and the President of Russia.

After that he looses the very man he had blamed for his friend's death, then forgave and begun to grow used to him.

He thought of all those men, and all the civilians, all the marines, who died by Makarov's hand. No one would miss him. No one had even buried him from what he heard. They sent him back to Russia, then dumped him in the ocean. No one mourned his death, and no one cared besides the victims and their families. They only celebratied.

MacMillian even came over to congratulate Price, and the Brit tried his best not to appear as hollow as he felt. But seeing as his former Captain knew him better, he quickly caught on, and had a long talk with him. Price ended up confining in him on how he felt Makarov hadn't suffered enough, how he should have died so much more slowly and painfully. The words were shocking even to him. Never before had Price been so revenge bent, and never before had he wished just painful execution on anyone. Not Al-Asad. Not Shepard. Not even Zhekaov.  
>But then again, none of them had ever been as horrible as the bastard Makarov.<p>

Now here he was, questioning how it could have been a month and few days already- where it only felt as though it were only a couple of days. Nights were long and he was never able to sleep. And days were spent in a daze. What had he come to? He couldn't be sure.

Price was snapped from his thoughts as Nikolai came in, eyes wide as if he had seen a ghost or something, which at this point wouldn't be surprise. But it was not fear, not a mortified expression that was depicted upon his features. But extreme shock and the tell tale sign that something happened that he couldn't wrap his mind around. When he spoke after a half minute of silence, his voice was trembling and the words were not planned out. "Price! I- you have to see this! It's- I don't know how it could have- it's not even possible but- oh my god!"

He stopped his babbling friend there and asked seriously, "What happened?"

"I- I- Just come with me!" Nikolai exclaimed, grabbing him by the arm to pull him out the door. To his surprise, Price pulled away and crossed them.

"Tell me what's going on first." Price requested.

Nikolai pressed his lips together, as if his mouth were dry. But he still hadn't sorted his thoughts out enough to remotely comprehend whatever had him so worked up. This time he took a stronger grasp on the older's wrist and tugged him out the doorway. "COME ON!"

To this Price didn't object, and let Nikolai pull him along.

And he sure did understand why Nikolai hadn't even explained. Or managed to anyways.

Nikolai had pulled him into the rec room, where MacMillian was sitting next to someone, and most of the new Task Force members had circled around, making it difficult to see who was there and get through the dence group in order to get closer to their visiter. But Price still pushed through, moving a few stunned men who gave no resistance to being pushed aside.

When he got through, he found himself frozen stiff...

**We all know what's gonna happen, right? Yup. So I leave you at another cliffhanger, and I also give you another TIIIIIIIIIME SKIIIIIIIIIIIIIP! :D Enjoy!**


	17. Is It Really You?

He looked up quickly as he heard the brush of fabric and footsteps. And found himself staring right back at Price. He didn't say a word, neither one of them had. There was just a heavy silence, simply from the shock of seeing each other.

Now before this gets any further, there is to be noted now that some more of his memory returned to him. Simple things, some people he knew. He found out more about Price, not enough, but some. The older next to him, MacMillian, had been working to help him fill some of the holes in his memory with some success to an extent.

It had been mostly a process of asking random people if they had any idea who Price was and where. Turns out there was one guy, some man with auburn hair who wore a cap with a union jack as well as had a short scruffy beard. He seemed oddly familiar to him, but he did not know where. He told him that Price was in England, and gave him some money as well as directions to get there. So he accepted it and had started to walk away. When he turned back to say thanks, the man was gone without a trace.

And when he got to England? Let's just leave it at there was a TON of shocked people, and then MacMillian found him at some clocktower in Hereford. He was about to even point to the clocktower, when he looked right at a blank spot among many names -a few read people like "Griffen" or "Gaz", familiar names that he couldn't place-. At first it was just simple shock on his face, then it was warmth before he told him that he'd take him back to some base. And that's how he got here.

Now he sat in front of Price, awkwardly and unsure. Was he even sure this man truly knew him? Not in the slightest.

That's when all his doubts and fears had been confirmed to be false.

Price finally had shaken himself out the shock, and he blinked slowly before saying in a near whisper, "Soap?"

He looked down his lap.

The older stepped a little closer. "Soap?" He then reached down for his shoulder, his hand kept a strong and firm grip, and so he looked back up. The very uncertainty that had been the depths of the Brit's steely blue eyes moments ago vanished away with some form of reconistion. This clear change in his expression was followed by him being pulled into a tight hug.

To it, Soap remained stiff, unsure what to do. Hug back? Push him off? Pat his back? What? Slowly he wrapped an arm around him and rubbed Price's shoulder blade as a sign of reassurence.

He hadn't even realized the tears that had escaped the other's eyes until he let go, his eyes reddened and wet. "I can't believe it... How?"

Soap couldn't explain what he didn't know, so he shrugged.

To that, MacMillian came in, much to his relief. "Price, he hardly has a clue who he is. Whatever happened, he can't remember it. He might recall it, or he might not. Just give him time."

Price nodded to that slowly. Then looked back to Soap. "It's really you, son?"

He forced a weak smile to his face. "It's really me, Price."

He found himself surprised when he was pulled to his feet by the older, then brought into another embrace. Price hissed a breath in an attempt to calm himself, with little success. "Welcome home."

That was when he remembered the rest...

**THE END!**

**Hope you guys liked it! I had such a fun time writing this. And now it's over.**

**I'm consitering a new story to work on, and I have a couple ideas. I'm letting you, the viewers give me your opinion on which on you wanna see. And remember, if I don't do one right away, then I'll do it shortly after.**

**-When the Task Force is sent to free slaves, they don't expect they themselves to become the very thing that they try to stop. Now it's up to Price to get everyone out of this mess. Humor and Suspence, and will probably be rated T.  
>-Something's wrong with Ghost, Soap only took until now to notice. He hasn't slept well, he seems to hold a haunted expression where ever he goes, and he's been disappearing at night. Does it have any connection to the men vanishing on the trails and being found unconscious and with some blood drained of their body? Paranormal and Angst, rated T.<strong>


End file.
